


Sympathy For The Devil

by casstayinmyass



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: BDE Popia, Based On A TV Appearance, Cocky Cardinal Copia, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom Cardinal Copia, F/M, Sub Cardinal Copia, Switching, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28931472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: Papa IV returns to the Abbey after his appearance on the game show performing “Sympathy For The Devil,” with an attitude about him. When his pride gets out of hand, you’re determined to put him back in his place, even though he’s Papa.
Relationships: Cardinal Copia/Reader, Papa Emeritus IV/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Sympathy For The Devil

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of today's new Popia content, thanks to two of my friends for asking me to do this! Inquire about your own at my tumblr, @kissthegoghuleh.

You had predicted Copia would come home with at least a hint of pent up energy after a performance like that. You know performing turns him on, but this was a whole new level of exhilaration for him. This was his first big comeback after the Ghost project had been put on hold due to the pestilence—Copia had muttered endlessly about that, cursing the theme of his debut album.

_“The Black Death is a hyperfixation of mine, cara!” he had complained, stroking one of his rats as he paced, “I did not think it would lead to global pandemonium!”_

After assuring him he wasn’t the cause of everything that had happened the past year, (and a brief discussion into if he should claim responsibility for it for his image) Copia had moved on to begin working hard for when he would eventually make his comeback.

That comeback, despite being in the form of a cover song, was last night.

You had been watching with the rest of the congregation in the indoor amphitheatre where the projector had been rolled down. The theatre was typically used for Shakespeare plays and arts evenings in the Abbey (see: Terzo delivering hour long soliloquies half naked and prancing around the stage) but it had been a room buzzing with utterings of, _“Papa’s debut!”_ and _“We’re finally back on the map!”_

You had taken front and center seat to watch the screen, surrounded by friends and smiling ear to ear as you watched your significant other, the most powerful man in the Church, bring sympathy to the devil to the world. You’re certain you’d be getting a wave of new converts from the performance, from the way Copia moved his hips as well as the captivating glare into the camera from the one white eye. From the first note he sang, you had known he was thoroughly enjoying himself… and that he would want to keep that feeling going when he arrived home.

The lighting had been beautiful, and when the song had opened on Copia’s husky voice, it had been a clear change from what you had all been used to hearing. He had practiced extensively, so you had heard him perform the song in the shower, but with the surrounding ambience of the fog and the familiar passion of his performance, it all came together into a breathtaking show that tantalized and hypnotized. 

Each scream and growl in the song sunk your fingernails a little further into your thigh. It was selfish, but you wished it was a dress rehearsal in his bedroom, so you could undress him immediately and sink to your knees to show him just how much you enjoyed it.

After the big finish, you found you had been holding your breath. Your fellow Sister had drawn you back to reality when she started the clap, everyone in the amphitheatre applauding the grand public return of Papa Emeritus IV.

He’d be back soon. It’s a quarter to eleven, and Copia and his entourage are due back by midday. Sister Imperator had fixed everyone into shape, ordering everybody best dressed and at attention for the return of the Papa. You had taken a spot near the front to see how he would arrive—you’re sure it would be in style, knowing Copia.

You hear a dull roar, and see the approach.

The motorcade arrives with pomp and circumstance, the main limo painted in a flashy robin egg blue. The tinted windows are rolled up, but you can hear the sound of loud, evil bass from inside the car bumping Mr. Crowley by Ozzy Osbourne.

The rims on the car read: FUCK YOU, and the license plate reads a stark: S8ANSLUT. The limo parks along with the ghoul cars tailing it, and from the limo, a ghoul gets out of the front and walks around to the door. Opening it, an Italian leather shoe steps out as everyone around you begins to cheer. The sound of thick guitars on the diabolical Ozzy track playing pours out as Copia stands and slips on sunglasses.

Two sisters flock to Copia’s side as ceremony dictates, approaching him and helping him out of the car on either arm of his. He steps out like a movie star, sunglasses on and hair slicked back. He’s still wearing that reflective red jacket—he’s obviously very proud of his wardrobe choice, and you can’t deny he’s rocking it with all the swagger and confidence he can muster. Last night’s performance obviously boosted his ego a little. _Just a little._

Copia juts his chin out and gives each sister a pat on the hand as they escort him through the stone entryway and into the Church. As he passes you, you see the hint of that excited little smile; he’s thought of his reunion with you the whole way home.

As everybody disperses to go about their regular duties, you overhear the Emeritus brothers talking.

“A return fit for a King,” Primo nods.

“Are you calling him a King?” Secondo huffs.

“I was merely observ—”

“Why didn’t I get a motorcade?” Terzo complains.

“You maxed out all the church funds on champagne and sex toys,” Secondo deadpans.

“And you think he doesn’t spend all of our money on stupid shit? He had 39 rats and 17 wardrobe changes, the fancy fuck!”

“His rats are very polite, and his wardrobe is comfortably fashionable,” Primo nods. “Let us not indulge in the sin of envy at present fratellos, but the sin of gluttony. Breakfast time.” He steers his two fuming younger brothers down the corridor. Both of them grumble in response as you giggle, turning away from their conversation.

You figure Copia would stop off at the chapel first to pay his respects to the Olde One for answering his prayers of strength and charisma during the performance, so you had time to get to his suite and wait for him there. Slipping down the hallway with your head down, lest you meet a ghoul that needs you for something, you make your way to the West Papal Corridor, lit by ever-burning torches. Copia has had the hallway decorated in rich ambers, rose golds, turquoise, deep blue and smoky black, the sigils and tributes to Lucifer woven into the paint. It’s truly a beautiful walk to his door, where his doorknocker has been fashioned into a rather mean looking rat. Copia had wanted it to be friendly, but Imperator had insisted that as he had shot down the idea of a goat doorknocker, an “intimidating rodent” would be the next most appropriate for a Papa. It didn’t suit him very well, but c’est la vie.

You stroke your fingers over the sharpened teeth of the metal knocker, but move your hand down instead to unlock his door. Sneaking inside, you drop your habit quickly and look in his closet. If any other Sibling had been doing this, they would receive a harsh punishment—but Copia knew you far before he was Papa in the anti-biblical sense, and he didn’t care what you rifled through of his at this point.

Pushing the new, sparkling suits out of the way, you dig in the back of his large mahogany wardrobe to find his collection of old t-shirts he liked to lounge in. You found them in a ball, and sifted through until you found an old vintage Rolling Stones T. Perfect, after he had just covered him. Making known your congratulations through the emblem of the lips on the t-shirt, you get into it and sit on his bed, nothing but panties underneath. He would be returning soon to get out of his things and take the day off.

The door finally opens, and it’s a ghoul. He nods to you after a brief pause, and dutifully looks away as he holds the door open for Copia. He smells of incense, so your guess had been right—he had stopped by the chapel to give thanks. A visit to the chapel was usually an aphrodisiac for anyone here; the incense itself was laced with naturally lust-inducing herbs, and the environment of worship for carnal pleasure inspired a bodily reaction. Stronger in some, of course. Always strong in Copia, and mixed with the adrenaline still present from last night?

“Waiting to give me a warm welcome home, yeah?” is the first thing he says. You spread your legs open a little.

“What gave you that idea?”

“Did you see what they are saying about me, Sister?” Copia smiles, dismissing his ghoul with a wave of his hand. He begins to take off his gloves, then has second thoughts. “Eh… would you be so kind as to…?” You raise your eyebrows, but walk over to him slowly, shaking your hips as you do so. His eyes run down your body in his shirt, and back up to your face as you make a show of teasing his fingers out of the gloves. You lay them carefully down on the table beside the two of you, and he smoothes his bare hands across your face. “How beautiful you are. You make a Papa proud to have such a pretty, obedient acolyte.”

“Obedient?” you huff. “All that star power going to your head?”

“Feh. I know who I am and what I want,” Copia shrugs, running a hand through his slicked back hair. “Come here.” Blinking, you approach him, and he holds his hand out. You place your hand in his, and he gently strokes his thumb over the knuckles before guiding your hand forward to place over his bulge. You can feel that he’s half hard in his pants. “You feel that? I have been this way all night,” he whispers. “But I saved myself so you could feel all of me. I want to give you all I have saved for you.”

“So kind,” you smirk. “So do it.” Copia sniffs, inspecting his nails.

“You expect a Papa to chase his own pleasure?”

You promptly take your hand off of his bulge, scoffing up at him. “Do you want it or not?”

“Is that even a question you must ask?” he snaps. His short temper and demand for subservience makes you think it really has gone to his head… at least for today. You decide to indulge him, let him fuck you until the old Copia comes crawling back out of hiding to apologize.

“Forgive my insolence Papa,” you say, trying to hold a straight face. You’re used to him expressing such a sentiment toward you, but you’re playing a part here for his sake. “What can I do to serve you?”

“Rub me, Sister,” he says, voice rasping. “Touch me how you can see I need.” You start to rub your hand up and down the length of his cock through those black pants. He bumps his hips forward to let you know he appreciates the job you’re doing. 

“Did you touch this at all when you were gone?” you ask him, leaning forward to dab your lips against his cock.

“No,” he breathes.

“Not even a little?” you coax him. “When you pulled it out to shower? You didn’t think of me?”

“Of course I did,” he mutters. “I wanted to wait. I did not want to spend myself.”

“Must have been tough. You were horny on stage, weren’t you?”

“Si… si, I felt myself growing hard after the first word I sang.” He moans, taking you by the shoulders. “Sister, pull it out, hm? Suck your Papa off, make him feel good.”

“Put it in my mouth, if you’re such a powerful man,” you grin. Copia jerks his head down, all traces of a gentleman gone, and stands you up. He walks you over to the bed, tosses you onto it, and flips up his shirt to reveal your panties. He growls when he sees all your skin, bare to him.

“Waiting for me.”

“Maybe,” you remind him.

“To hell with that,” he snarls.

“Oh yeah? You want to fuck me?”

“You talk to me as if I am some inconsequential ghoul. Address me with respect.”

“Of course, Papa,” you tease, spreading your legs wider for him. He weakens a little at the sight of your cunt ready for him, the panties covering it beginning to soak through. “Take what you need from me.” He slips the panties down and moans. You buck your hips up, so he slips a finger into you.

“I think I will watch you come apart on my fingers first,” he drawls, “And then I will use you. Make you cum all over my cock and scream for me.”

“Scream as Anastasia did in vain?” you breathe.

“Oh,” he moans, recognizing the quote from the song.

“Did you think of me screaming for you as you sang that line?” you huff, breath starting to thin as Copia curves his finger inside of you, “How you play with my clit and make me feel like a goddess?”

“You are a goddess Sorella,” Copia growls, “But right now, you are my chambermaid. You serve your Papa, and you do it well. I have the power to punish now, you know this.” You startle as Copia turns you over and slips another finger in. Your walls clench around his digits, and Copia moves your hips so your clit is rubbing against the covers of his bed as his fingers stroke your g-spot.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whisper.

“What are you waiting for?” he hisses in your ear. You help him out by grinding down, and start to gasp.

“I… oh, that’s…”

He presses a kiss to your thigh as he spreads you wider and delves his tongue between your folds, licking up everything you’re gushing. Your fingers curl into the sheets and you cry out loud as he brings you to your first shuddering orgasm, helping you grind against the mattress as you ride it out. He gives your ass a fond pat as he takes his tongue out and licks his lips. “A nice first meal after my return to the Abbey,” Copia hums. “They had nothing like this on the show offered to me.” He sighs, and you hear his belt jangling as he pulls it out of their loops. “Don’t they know who I am?” His fingers tighten ruthlessly into your ass. “That I deserve to have my cock fucking worshipped like the man of Satan I am?”

“Copia,” you growl, flipping around, “You may be high up on your pale horse, thinking you’re special because of how many people are grovelling at your feet after that performance. But in here, you’re mine.”

A flicker of fear disturbs the cocksure attitude in his eyes. “Sister—”

“On the bed.” Copia hesitates, weighing whether or not he can get away with the snark anymore. Before he can get a word in edgewise, you take him by his hair and guide him to the bed, where he now elects to sit obediently. You stroke his hair back gently, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Playtime is over. You’re Papa out there. Rat in here. Yeah?”

“You think you can so easily subjugate me, after I have seen all those who would give their life for me?” he sneers. You get onto the bed and straddle him, your wetness slicking his boxers. His breath hitches, but he still tries to fight for dominance. Copia flips you over, lips inches away from yours. “I could excommunicate you.”

“And lose this?” you ask innocently, grinding yourself up. You slide your hand down between the two of you and cup him through his pants. Copia’s eyelids droop, and his mustache twitches as you squeeze gently. “You know no adoring Sibling can touch you like I do.” You squeeze a little harder and start to circle your hand, stroking up and down until your pace is hurried enough to make him even harder than he is. Copia is nearly choking atop you, and a drop of precum drips onto your hipbone.

“Ai… mi arrendo. I am sorry, I am so sorry… take me. Remind me what I have done.”

You smirk, looking up at the broken rat. You guide his face back to yours to maintain eye contact, and he looks down to your lips shyly, the Popia who walked in transformed.

“Your body… it is witchcraft.”

“You like it.”

 _“I love it.”_ He surges down to kiss you messily, and you reach up to take him out. His cock bounces freely into your hand, and you give it a stroke before fitting it between your legs. Copia whimpers as you tease the head at your wet entrance.

“You think you can come home all cocky after performing like that?” you ask, rocking yourself down over only his head. “The minute I saw you up there, I knew I would have to put you back in your place the minute you got back here. You just let it _all_ go to your head, didn’t you baby?”

He moans. “Si. I felt so good, everybody worshipping me. It is what I have always want—” You cut him off by sliding down all the way, and his ambitions are forgotten. He waits patiently as you always tell him to, worried that if he moves first you’ll pull off of him and make him wait. You circle your hips however, and sigh when the head of his cock reaches the g-spot he had so lovingly stroked moments ago. Copia’s breath gets caught in his throat, and you whisper in his ear:

“Have your way with me.”

Copia lets out his breath and pumps his hips in like a man starved for pleasure. The sensitivity from your last orgasm only draws you closer to your second as Copia loses himself in thrusting, balls hitting your ass with every sharp movement of his hips.

“When I watched you up there, in the paint and backlit in red…” you moan, pausing to groan as he bottoms out, “You looked like Him.”

“What?” Copia breathes. “You don’t mean—”

“You looked like Lucifer Himself, suave and deadly.” You tug him down to kiss him again, his paint smudging your own lips black. “Just waiting for all of your followers to flock to you. Follow you, worship you.”

“Cara—” he gasps.

“As Papa, you’ll bring in more than any of the others ever did,” you tell him, grabbing him by the hips and urging him faster inside of you, “You’ll restore glory to the Church. You’ll do Satan’s work.”

Copia lets out something between a whine and a yell, grabbing the mattress around you and burying his face into your neck. You feel his cock throb inside of you, as well as the first burst of his finish. Intensity rages as you pull his face out of your nape to connect your lips once more, sliding your tongue into his mouth. Copia sighs your name into your mouth, and shudders as his instincts take over, pounding through his orgasm. 

His pulsing cock rubbing just right against your sweet spot finally brings you over the edge as well, clutching onto him and breathing his title as if you’re offering down a prayer to him. Copia cradles you in his arms until you come down, both of you catching your breath in time with one another. Finally, the Papa moves off of you, pulling out and sitting between your legs back on his heels.

“I feel I should apologize,” he pants, darting his eyes over to you. “I knew that I wanted you, but I didn’t know my appetite was that… intense.”

“Satanas gave you the urge when you sang so you would come home and satisfy,” you smile, stretching out on his covers like a cat. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Si. I suppose so.” He gets off the bed, one side of his hair sticking up. “It did feel pretty fucking good!” He chuckles to himself before realizing his pants are still around his knees, and his shirt and jacket hadn’t even been removed in all your hurry.

“Good look,” you nod. “I think you should’ve gone on to sing like that.”

Copia looks down to see a rather silly sight—his dick hanging down beneath his stylish red jacket. He covers himself with a deep blush, and grabs for his pants to pull up.

“I think your balls grew after that performance.”

“ _Sister_.”

“What?! I look at them more than you do!”

“I—that is not true.”

“You look at your balls a lot?”

“No!” He opens his mouth, then closes it again. “Just… help me clean up, yeah?” You slide off of the bed with a silly smile on your face, and take his hand. Leading him to his ensuite, you get the sink running for hot water, and take one of the blue facecloths out of the cupboard, fabric embroidered with a silver grucifix.

“Sit down on the toilet.”

“I do not have to go.” You frown, then bark out a laugh.

“Sit on the _lid_ , Copia.” You shake your head. “You should always pee after sex anyway.”

“I don’t see you peeing.”

“Fuck, I will later! First thing’s first!” you mutter, tossing the towel at his face. It hits him square in the forehead, and he looks up to see you running one of the other cloths under the hot water. You come over, and straddle him where he sits. Copia whines slightly as you wiggle to get comfortable over his softening cock, but you make no move to seduce him any further—you instead concentrate on his painted face.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“It’s your day off,” you tell him, hot breath making his nose twitch. “I’m gonna get you comfy.”

“I am comfy in my paint,” he protests, voice rising higher in pitch. “Cara, please. I am a Papa, I want to wear my paint.”

“If you leave this on all the time, you’ll get blackheads,” you coo, wiping a long streak of the makeup off and exposing the pale skin underneath, pink from the heat.

“Black-heads?”

“Pimples,” you giggle. “Lots and lots of pimples. All over your face.”

“Terzo doesn’t.”

“Terzo has the skincare routine of Lady Gaga. The man will never age because he has the surgery regime of Mickey Rourke with thankfully more fortunate results, and the oil glands of a man who does facemasks every morning and night, so please, for the love of Satan Copia, don’t compare yourself to that man.”

“I… see your point, si.”

“So no blackheads,” you whisper, kissing him on the nose. “I want to see you again.” He looks confused for a moment.

“It is me.” You scoop the paint off with the warm towel, leaving only the black around his eyes. The smile on your face grows.

“There you are.” He rests his hands on his hips.

“You know just because I am Papa, I have not changed.” You raise your eyebrows, and he goes red. “Eh… I got a bit carried away when I returned home, I know. It is a minor side effect, eh?”

“With big rewards.”

“Ah. Yes.” His cheeks grow even pinker, and you cup them.

“You know how much I love you?”

“Would you tell me?” He manages a half smile. “Just so I know it for sure?” You lean forward to embrace him, resting your head on his shoulder. Copia brings his arms up to hug you back, rubbing up and down your back and drawing you closer to his beating heart.

“I love you like you’re mine,” you sigh, closing your eyes. Copia pats the back of your head.

“I am yours, Sister. Only yours.” Your heartbeat flutters, and Copia pats your thigh gently. “Now. I suggest we cuddle in a better spot than on the toilet. Let’s get back to the bed. Order some room service, sound good?”

“You’re the Papa.”

“I think we will have some cookies. Maybe some donuts too, yeah? Pastries, some mac and cheese… the good stuff.”

“Didn’t they feed you on the show?” you laugh.

“Like I said. Not as well as you fed me just now.” He spanks your ass as you get up, and you run to bed to join your television famous Papa. 


End file.
